


Summer Rain

by NyteFlyer



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Drama, M/M, Microfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyteFlyer/pseuds/NyteFlyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No relief compares to that of a warm summer rain</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Rain

He doesn’t hear the shots because of the thunder, but he definitely feels their impact, each bullet slamming him back a step until he’s pressed against the crumbling brick wall of the alley. He stands there a moment, stunned and uncomprehending, before slowly sinking, his body reacting before his mind can process what’s happened. His knees hit asphalt and in torturous slo-mo he topples forward bonelessly, flopping face-down on the wet pavement. The muted voice in a distant corner of his mind tells him he should be struggling to reach his cell phone, panicking, howling in agony -- something. But all he can do is lie listlessly in a growing puddle and think _rain, fucking rain, it's July for chrissake and it should be hot and sunny, not overcast with the fucking sky forever gushing rain...._

Lights, noise, the brutal ministrations of doctors and nurses. His tattered nerve endings have finally completed their circuit with the sensors in his brain, and there’s pain -- blinding, suffocating, unbearable pain. Terrified and bewildered, he frantically searches through the shifting, jarring chaos for some solid point of reference, something to cling to, a familiar buffer against the unrelenting storm of sensation battering him. But in the midst of all these white-and-green-clad bodies he’s alone, wrenchingly and fatally alone, so he does the only thing left for him to do: he retreats from the pain, noise, light, allowing himself to sink down through the dark, numbing layers of resignation until all feeling, all thought, all hope is just a distant white noise faintly buzzing beyond the periphery of his fading consciousness.

In the final instant before he slides down into that bottomless pit of nonexistence, firm hands yank him up and cradle him close, and it hurts with a sharpness that cuts through his stupor, forcing him to acknowledge the pure shock of it with a single moan. Somehow, he recognizes this hurt as a good kind of hurt, a hurt with purpose, and he clings to the pain, allowing it to help him focus. Lips brush his ear and a familiar voice, clear and fierce, whispers, “Don’t you leave me. Don’t you dare even think of leaving me.” Then in spite of the pain, the lights, the noise, he struggles up through the thick, anesthetizing layers and gasps one word, one name, one monosyllabic incantation with the power to blunt this razor’s edge of misery waiting to torture him.

_oh god oh god jesus god it hurts it hurts_

But he can deal with it now, has to deal with it, has to stick it out, because that quiet voice -- breaking but not broken -- murmurs reassurances, arms hold him hard and sure, a warm wetness splashes his face, and he’s never been so glad in all his life to be caught in a sudden downpour of summer rain….


End file.
